A Gift From Above
by Halfelven hero
Summary: There are people who will benefit this very day from your generosity," Mr. Fogerty said . Though Erin was unwilling, at best, to let her sister's organs be given away, a 16 yr. old, half a country away, did indeed benefit. Somewhere Between Life & Death
1. Prologue

Prologue:

"Medi-Evac 22-c to Mercy General, copy. Code White. ETA Two minutes."

"Medi-Evac, Mercy General. No-go; Code Yellow, total divert."

The response was terse; the speaker sounded annoyed. "Medi-Evac repeat. 10-19. We have a 16-year-old coding. ETA 105 seconds."

"Dammit," Dr. Carollyn Parker muttered, overhearing the radio conversation. "John, give me the radio."

John handed the radio over, having very recently learned not to annoy Dr. Parker.

Carollyn barked into the radio "Medi-Evac 22-c, this is Mercy. Bring your Code White in. Over and out," She handed the radio back to the operator.

"10-4," the response came in.

The Mercy General ER waas packed to the brim on this unseasonably warm spring day, due to an unfortunate accident on the I-40, which ran along the south edge of Flagstaff, leaving 22 people with moderately serious injuries. Carollyn, A cardiologist by trade, was working a 72-hour shift in the Emergency Room after the Celtics beat the Lakers, and Carollyn realised that she had bet money she didn't have on hand, to another physician.

So it was a change, from working in the rather quiet, often slow-paced Cardiology office, to working in the hustle and bustle of the emergency room. Even the most experianced E.R. doctors were feeling frazzled, and Carollyn was on the verge of ripping her hair out.

Despite the relative insanity, Carollyn couldn't turn down a sixteen year old whose heart was dying out.

"Crash team!" Carollyn shouted, "Code White, ETA 60 seconds."

Two heartbeats later, the ambulance enterance doors slid open. Four medics rolling a gurney entered, followed by a frazzled, middle-aged woman. Judging from the appearance of the girl lying on the gurney, Carollyn assumed she was the mother.

One of the medics, a tall, lanky guy with brown hair, started to shout over the din of the E.R. "Sixteen years old, went code white halfway through running a two mile relay. High school track meet," he added, to Carollyn's questioning glance.

"V-fib," another medic added. "Her heartbeat slowed, and sounded irregular, when we did stabilize her. She coded twice en route, too."

On that cue, the heart monitor went off.

"Dammit," Carollyn shouted, "V-fib, get me a defib!" A young, female nurse grabbed a cart with a defibrillator, and handed Carollyn the paddles.

"100," the nurse said, adjusting a switch on the machine. Another unbuttoned the girl's shirt.

"Clear!" The attendants stood back as Carollyn administered the shock, attempting to get the heartbeat back to normal. The monitor ceased its loud-pitched whine.

"That's three times in about twelve minutes," one of the ambulance technicians said.

Something like this happened infrequently, and even less frequently to someone so young. It always boded ill.

"Mandy," Carollyn said, "Call Cardiology and tell them I want them to find out what the hell is wrong with her. X-rays, MRI, tox. screen, a biopsy if they have to. Tim, John, take her up to Cardio-ICU, stat."

Carollyn turned toward the girl's mother, and spoke, softening her tone, "This is serious. But we have the best Cardiology team in Arizona. She'll be okay."


	2. Chapter 1: Distress

"Anna, get your ass out of bed, now!" Susan Timms's usually timid voice echoed through her daughter's cubicle-sized bedroom.

When her daughter didn't rise, Mrs. Timms stormed across the impeccably neat room, and yanked the curtains open, allowing sharp blades of sunlight to permeate the semi-darkness of the room.

"Anna, now!" she yelled again, finally eliciting a response from her daughter. "If you don't get up now, you're not going to have time to get ready for your meet!"

Anna sighed deeply and let out a groan, and rolled over to see the LCD display of her alarm clock. It read 6:02 a.m. Anna sighed. The track meet didn't start until 2 p.m.

"Stretch out, and hit the treadmill," Mrs. Timms barked, with the air of a drill seargant ordering her troops. "I've already programmed it; 2 miles uphill. Then eat 2 bowls of that bran cereal I bought yesterday, and measure out your milk – do it over the sink this time, for the love of God! Then take half an hour to do your devotional, and then take two laps around the block. Shower and get into your uniform, then I'll drive you down to school to warm up."

"Alright," Anna agreed, not wanting to agitate her mother. Most mornings, she was just simply overbearing, but on track days, Anna considered her in league with Hitler and Mussolini.

She quickly made her bed, then began stretching. Mrs. Timms nodded with satisfaction. "I'll be downstairs working, if you need me."

Anna nodded. "Working" was her mother's euphemism for sitting downstairs on the sofa, chowing down cheese flavored chex mix and gulping soda, her hair in clurlers and her eyes divided between the television, which usually played homage to women such as Oprah Winfery, Katie Couric, or Sally Jessie Raphael; and her laptop computer, where she played internet poker and spoke via microphone to other middle-aged women with similar interests.

Anna worked her way through the list of arduous exercises taped to her vanity mirror. Even though she felt perturbed at her mother for waking her up so early, it did feel good to stretch. After fifteen minutes, she was limber enough to run. Anna grabbed her iPod, and bounded downstairs. The treadmill was in the living room, tucked behind the couch.

Anna could hear her mother before she entered the living room. "No, Dolores, I can't make your 2-o'clock tournement. Little Anna has a track meet. . . . Yes, I know you're disappointed, but her team's doing really well; they might make it to nationals this year, and you know they're down in Miami. . . . So yes, you see, you do have a vested interest in letting me miss this one little tournement." Mrs. Timms, wearing her wireless headset, walked into the kitchen. She paused, beckoned to Anna, and pointed to the treadmill.

Anna complied. She stepped into the livingroom, and got on the treadmill. She cranked up the music, allowing the notes to diffuse through her body. She started the machiene, aand started running, away from her bossy, domineering mom, away from school, away from track team; where the only thing that existed was the music and the steady rhythm of her feet hitting the plastic track.

After eating her breakfast (supervised by her mom, naturally), Anna went upstairs to her room, and pulled out a journal with a hard, baby blue cover. Instead of pulling out her bible to do her devotional, like most mornings, she just opened to a blank page, and picked up her pen. Her emotions set loose like a cresting wave. She began to write:

_I'm not… feeling so well today. Well, physically, I'm fine, but emotionally, I don't know. I'm getting tired of mom, I suppose… she's been trying to control every aspect of my life since… well, since the accident, I guess. _

Anna paused. Her father, older brother, and twin little sisters had died in a crash a little over a year ago, leaving just her and her mother. She didn't often think of it, and this was the first time she had even mentioned it in her journal.

_I guess I can understand the shock of going from having a family of six to having a family of two, but still… doesn't she think that it was a big enough shock for me? Doesn't she know that I'm still trying to deal with it too, and I don't need her breathing down my neck all the time?!_

_She's become a maniac about my track… she really wasn't that into it…, well, before the crash, but now she's a maniac. She actually brought dinner for the whole team at last week's practice, and she's always bringing drinks, and chatting it up with the kids, and waving banners, and screaming at the top of her lungs during competitions._

_I shouldn't complain… I really shouldn't, because there are some parents coughErika'sparentscough that are really bad, that hardly ever talk to their kids, and it's really sad. I mean, honestly. Her mom has never been to a single track meet, probably doesn't even know how good Erika is at what she does. _

_I guess I should be grateful… but still… I'm tired of her running my life. Gah, why can't I just be a normal kid for once, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze!! Just give me a family, normal parents, and something I'm good at for once… to tell the truth, I'm getting tired of track… I'm getting exhausted so easily nowadays… I can't run as far as I used to :-( Maybe I should stick with something simple, like scrapbooking, or videogames, lol._

_Well, I should stop writing. Mom will be in here any minute to go make me run XX. I have a track meet today, so I should be running until I collapse. Doesn't she realize that in order to be able to run the mile, I have to have some stamina left in me after the 'warm up'?... this is more of a burn up, really._

_I swear. Track is going to be the death of me. If my mom isn't._


End file.
